


Foxtrots and Friulano

by starrdust411



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Background Relationships, Dancing, M/M, Prompt Fic, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrdust411/pseuds/starrdust411
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany finds himself just tipsy enough to think that sharing a dance with Italy wouldn't be such a terrible idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foxtrots and Friulano

Germany was used to playing many roles, as any nation must learn to do, and in his time he had learned to juggle all the duties he was expected to perform, but the task of attending functions that straddled the border between formal and social had always perplexed him. Banquets and state dinners had always been difficult for him to navigate and to this day he still felt a great deal of shame admitting this truth even to himself. If given a sword Germany could be a warrior, handed a pen he could be a bureaucrat, but stuffed in a tuxedo with a glass of champagne in hand and he was a lost soul adrift at sea.

The bright lights of the ballroom stung his eyes as Germany shifted awkwardly against the marble floor in his tight, polished shoes. From all around there were voices chatting politely, raising their tone just high enough to be heard above the gentle tinkering of glasses and the soothing melody of the piano quintet on stage. The air was filled with a mixture of fragrances: roasted vegetables, seasoned meat, uncorked wine, and perfume. Whether turned to the left or right there would always be someone nearby, finely dressed and smiling captivatingly. Germany tried his best to take it all in as he forced himself to either stop wringing his hands or make the act less noticeable.

"Just try to have fun," his boss had suggested with a smile that was meant to be reassuring and a fond pat to his shoulder. As accustomed as Germany was to following orders, he found this one a bit difficult, because "fun" for him meant running laps around the track or lifting weights at the gym or tending to his dogs. Making pleasant small talk with dignitaries was not quite as enjoyable. 

He was not nearly as ill fitted for these events as Prussia -- who took relish in the lack of official country status by abstaining from such gatherings all together -- yet neither could he quite achieve Austria's level of ease as the man practically flourished in settings such as this. And to his greatest shame, he found that this was perhaps the one arena where Italy could triumph over him, because in a fresh tuxedo with sleek hair and cologne splashed against his neck and wrists, Italy was quite charming, almost dapper and while it was hard to call someone with an almost childlike affinity for wine "dapper," Italy certainly managed to push the envelope.

"Try this one next, Germany!" Italy practically gushed as he handed him another glass of wine. "It has a wonderful bouquet!"

He frowned down at the deep red liquid before taking a slow thoughtful sip as he had done with his previous glass. Germany didn't drink wine often, but he knew enough about society dinners to be aware that ordering a beer would be unwise.

"Steady now Germany," Hungary whispered teasing from just over his shoulder. "Don't let Italy here fill your glass too much. You don't want him tearing down all of your defenses." She had been smiling jovially when she said this, but the words were soon punctuated by a thoughtful frown that shifted into a far off sort of look that Germany couldn't quite read. "Then again, you wouldn't want to waste perfectly good wine."

Germany looked down at his glass, still three quarters full and gave the liquid a thoughtful swirl as Hungary idly moved towards the other end of the room. At the moment, he couldn't see much else for him to do other than drink the wine Italy had been offering him. He had tried to make small talk with a few of the other nations, but it was something he didn't have much practice with and each attempt at a friendly discussion always turned back to business.

"Oh Germany, please, leave the number crunching for the office!" France had said when Germany had tried to start a chat about the financial status of the European Union. The words had been spoken lightly, but Germany could tell by the way the corners of France's lips had turned downward ever so slightly that there was underlying distaste there. "Now, if you are looking for a spot on my dance card, then we can certainly work something out."

He had done his best to suppress the frown that longed to form on his lips at such a suggestion before politely declining and excusing himself. Germany did not make a habit of dancing and certainly not with men. He knew how to perform a basic foxtrot and could quick step well enough to get by, but he was not one to freely waltz in public unless it was to forward political relations.

"I found another one for you to try!" Italy said brightly, materializing at his elbow with two glasses in one hand and two hastily stacked plates of white cake in the other. "It's a dessert wine, so I figured that we should have some sweets while we drink."

Germany touched a hand to his forehead. He didn't usually drink with Italy and was only accepting the glasses he had been offering him because it gave off the impression that he was being social. (And when his boss had glanced over at the two of them sharing their first glass she had smiled in what appeared to be approval.) He suddenly realized that Italy, perhaps unconsciously, had been taking advantage of his willingness to participate in this impromptu wine tasting and had perhaps refilled his wineglass one too many times.

"Perhaps I should eat something," he muttered more to himself than Italy, before giving up his now empty glass to a passing waiter. "Let's have a seat."

Italy nodded in approval to the suggestion and led them to a nearby table. The other chairs were empty, but the abandoned jackets and glasses with touches of lipstick along the rims were a clear sign that it had been occupied previously. Germany tried not to think too hard about whether or not the former occupants would return as he sampled the cake that was pleasantly spongy and moist against his tongue.

Looking to his side he saw that Italy was distracted by the band on stage and had only nibbled at his dessert. Italy's hands were encased in white gloves, their fabric glossy and soft to the touch, and when his fingers moved from the silver base of his fork, to the stem of his glass Germany found his eyes following. He watched as the golden liquid in Italy's glass slowly disappeared into his gently pursed lips, watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down just above the collar of his starch white dress shirt and Germany found himself thinking that even with the collar and cuff of his tie at his throat, Italy's neck still managed to look quite long and angular.

_I must have had one glass too many,_ he thought to himself as he clanked the prongs of his fork against his plate. _My mind is starting to wander._

Germany was aware that he wasn't quite drunk yet, but the idea that he was edging close to it made him nervous. The last thing he wanted was to become a drunken mess and cause a scene in much the same fashion that his brother often would.

Distantly Germany realized that the music had stopped when Italy and the other guest began to clap politely in its absence. "They're taking a break now," Italy leaned over to tell him (and Germany hoped that he hadn't been staring). "When they get back do you think we can have a dance?"

"We?" Germany felt his cheeks flush at the suggestion. He cleared his throat and pretended to loosen his collar. "I... I don't dance."

"Oh, pretty please Germany?" Italy asked, leaning in across the table and placing one of his gloved hands on top of Germany's knee and again he was blushing. "We can't just sit here and drink all night!"

Again the idea of getting drunk scared him and Germany realized that he did need to find another way to keep himself occupied. Still, dancing with Italy...

"Perhaps I should have some coffee," he said thoughtfully.

"Okay, I'll get you some!" Italy said eagerly, getting to his feet and disappearing before Germany could tell him how he wanted his drink.

"Italy certainly seems to be enjoying himself," Japan commented as he pulled out a chair beside Germany. The chair he set himself down in had a coat draped over its back and a half empty glass with missing plates in front of it. Germany wondered distantly if this was where Japan had been sitting previously, but the thought kept slipping in and out of his mind.

Germany did his best to greet him with a polite smile, but he was starting to feel groggy and wasn't certain that it came out right. "Perhaps a bit too much fun at my expense," he muttered to his now empty glass and plate as he placed his hand against his forehead. He was certainly feeling a slight buzz and a tingle to the world, but it was not enough to call himself drunk and he held tight to that fact.

"I certainly do not think that Italy is the type," Japan said and even without looking at him Germany could tell that Japan was smiling in that distant yet pleasant way of his.

Italy returned then, placing a cappuccino and a few chocolate dipped biscotti down in front of him. Germany looked up at him with a slight frown, one that Italy welcomed with his usual beaming grin as he took a seat on Germany's other side. Germany sighed and accepted the offered drink and accompanying sweets. He wasn't at all shocked that Italy hadn't gotten him what he had wanted, because really it would have been more surprising if Italy had brought him a mug of black coffee and nothing more.

"Hey Japan!" Italy greeted as he leaned across the table in order to get a better look at Japan. "Germany said he would dance with me! Want to join us on the dance floor?"

Germany stiffened at Italy's comment, because suddenly it was hard for him to recall whether or not he had actually agreed to dance. He only distantly registered Japan's polite refusal, his words nearly drowned out by the swell of applause that signaled the return of the band to the stage.

"Germany they're playing again!" Italy practically squealed as he grabbed Germany's wrist and began tugging him to his feet. "Come on, let's go dance!"

He was on his feet and stumbling towards the polished marbled dance floor before he could even register that he hadn't even taken a proper sip of his cappuccino. Not that Italy would have cared if Germany had said anything. He was too busy maneuvering them through the slowly gathering crowds before stopping at what appeared to be the very center of the floor.

"Italy," Germany began, his face tingling slightly as Italy grabbed his left hand in his right, before placing Germany's other hand against his narrow hip. The two of them weren't exactly standing close together, but the act of touching so publicly made him feel so very raw and exposed. "I can't... I'm not very good."

"That's okay Germany, you'll do fine!" Italy assured him. He gave his hand a reassuring squeeze just as the music swelled to a start. "Just move your feet to the music."

Germany swallowed against the tightness in his throat and felt his eyes instinctively slip down to their feet as they began to move. He did his best to mimic Italy's movements, stepping back when he stepped forward and moving right when he moved left, but even he could tell that he was quite stiff and awkward while Italy was practically gilding with ease. 

It was a struggle to peel his eyes away from the ground, but he managed and was surprised when he looked across the room and once again found his eyes landing on his boss. Again she smiled at him in an approving manner and he supposed this was more respectable than standing around drinking wine all night.

"Ouch!" Italy squeaked and Germany was so startled by the sound that he found himself instantly dropping his hand and stepping away. The scuff on the tip of Italy's polished shoe was painfully obvious and Germany probably felt more embarrassed than he should have at the sight of it.

"I told you I wasn't very good at this," Germany mutter apologetically and he hoped that this little incident would be enough for Italy to allow them to go back to their seats.

"It's okay Germany. It didn't hurt that much." He attentively grabbed Germany's hand again before stopping to look up at him. "Do you think you'd be more comfortable with me leading?"

Germany stiffened visibly at that suggestion, because the idea of Italy leading him in anyway was downright distressing. "No," he said firmly as he placed Italy's hand back on his shoulder before putting his own carefully just at Italy's waist. If he had been looking he may have noticed the way Italy smiled at the gesture. "No, I think I can manage."

They began moving again, slower and more carefully than before, and Germany again found himself staring at their feet, certain that doing so would help them to avoid another accident. He would like to have blamed his clumsy performance on his current state of inebriation, but Germany knew that even stone sober he wouldn't have been much better. 

"Don't look down at the floor so much Germany," Italy chided (and it was so strange to have Italy giving him instructions). "You'll get distracted."

"It's better than me crushing your feet," he sighed, yet reluctantly lifted his gaze until his eyes were now staring into the delicate patterns of Italy's tie instead of the faint scuffs along the polished floor.

"Maybe counting will help," Italy suggested and Germany blushed as Italy began softly muttering "one two three... one two three..." to him.

"Why did you want to dance with _me_?" Germany groused as he gave the room a quick glance before returning his gaze to Italy. "There are plenty of other countries you could have asked. Spain for one."

"Romano doesn't like it when I dance with Spain," Italy said simply and Germany could guess why.

"There's always France."

"He went somewhere with England."

"Austria then. Hungary certainly wouldn't mind."

"Yes, but..." Italy gave their hands another squeeze and even from the corner of his eyes Germany could see that there was a slight blush coloring Italy's cheeks now. "I wanted to dance with you. We never get to do things like dance together or drink wine... It's fun!"

Italy was right, they didn't do this sort of thing together often and Germany already knew the reason why. He still may not have known very much when it came to friendships, but Germany knew well enough that dancing side by side at formal galas was not something friends would do and Italy should know this too, because it certainly did not seem like some cultural difference between Germans and Italians. At the same time Germany would have been lying if he said that this whole experience was entirely unpleasant, because even if he was uncomfortable Italy did still smell nice and even through the fabric of his gloves Germany could still feel the warmth from his hands against him and it was quite pleasant.

They continued on like this, the two of them swaying gently back and forth, moving peacefully to the music as Italy gave the occasional instruction (some variation of "Don't be so stiff " and "Try not to watch your feet" being the most frequent pointers) and Germany eventually found himself relaxing enough that he was no longer actively seeking a way back to his chair. It was only when he began to notice that the number of people on the floor had dropped off that Germany realized just how much time had passed. He looked down and found that at some point the gap between them had all but disappeared and Italy was now standing flush against him with his head pillowed against Germany's shoulder. If it weren't for the fact that his feet were still moving -- ever so slightly from left to right -- Germany might have said that Italy had fallen asleep.

_I suppose that's enough dancing for one night,_ Germany thought to himself with mild relief. He gave Italy's narrow shoulders a gentle shake in order to gain his attention and as he began to stiffen in his arms, Germany suddenly found himself feeling somewhat reluctant to have this quiet moment come to an end.

It didn't take Italy long to collect himself and become aware of their surroundings, before allowing himself to be led off of the dance floor. "See Germany, that wasn't so bad," Italy said cheerfully as he looped his arm around Germany's and it suddenly became difficult to determine who was leading whom. "I bet you did a lot better than you thought."

Germany gave a stiff nod as he fought against the blush spreading across his cheek at Italy's touch. Glancing around the room at the crowd that was growing thinner with every passing minute Germany could find no trace of his boss and reasoned that she had already gone home. By the doors he was able to spot Hungary, who smiled at him in approval when their eyes met from across the room. He caught a suggestive gleam in her eyes, just as she turned her head towards Austria who was draping her coat over her shoulders.

"Next time we go dancing, I'm sure you'll do much better," Italy beamed as he gave Germany's already tense shoulders a fond pat.

"I don't think there will be a 'next time'," Germany said with a pointed cough as they walked towards the coat check desk. 

"Why not? This was so much fun!" Germany didn't respond and the crest fallen look on Italy's features turned almost desperate as he stared up at him, wide eyes nearly pleading like a puppy begging for a treat. "Well, would it help if we didn't go ballroom dancing next time?" Italy asked hopefully. "Maybe something less structured would help you relax? And maybe... maybe we won't drink wine? We could drink beer and ... and eat wurst?"

Germany did his best not to meet Italy's gaze, because it was hard enough to just stand there and listen to him speak when his words were so soft and wobbly and perhaps Germany was still feeling a bit tipsy, but he couldn't help noticing that Italy seemed to be quite willing to make compromises left and right just to spend a little more time with him. He gave a small sigh as he grabbed his coat and handed Italy his own, remembering how nice the smaller man smelled and how warm and pleasant their hands had felt clasped together.

"Well I suppose," Germany said at length, "a little practice on the dance floor wouldn't hurt."

**Author's Note:**

> For the GerIta holiday exchange.
> 
>  **Prompt** Germany and Italy are out somewhere, maybe at a formal gathering or better yet on vacation enjoying the local night life, where there is dancing. Germany's had a few drinks so Italy is able to talk him into dancing with him (he's not drunk, just tipsy enough that he's loosened up). I'd like to see Germany kind of nervous and unsure of himself and Italy guiding him patiently through the correct motions. It would be really sweet if one really liked the other and the other hadn't thought of the first one romantically until during this dance ^^


End file.
